


The One With The Stuffed Animals (Jack Barakat)

by AMelancholySunshine



Series: I'll Be Damned If I Don't Marry You (Jack Barakat) [2]
Category: All Time Low (Band)
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Sequel, pregnancy reveal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMelancholySunshine/pseuds/AMelancholySunshine
Summary: Back from tour, Jack shares the present he carefully selected for you. Turns out, you also have one to share with him.Sequel to ''I'll Be Damned If I Don't Marry You''.Based on this photo: https://mylovelyhopefullifetolive.tumblr.com/post/189938958986/the-one-with-the-stuffed-animals-jack-barakat
Relationships: Jack Barakat/You
Series: I'll Be Damned If I Don't Marry You (Jack Barakat) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780498
Kudos: 2





	The One With The Stuffed Animals (Jack Barakat)

"I think I'm going to ask Alex and the guys to find a new guitarist for the band."

The second element in a shocking set of revelation occurs, just like the first, as you're both propped up against the headboard, you, reading a historical fiction, Jack's gaze, on the other hand, occupied by the blueish glare from the television, stuck on some late-night paid programming about a recent gadget capable of putting a definitive end to sciatica pain.

" _What?"_ You exclaim with furrowed eyebrows, marking your page with a bookmark, then sitting crossed-leg in front of him, hoping to getting a logical explanation behind this nonsense.

"Being on tour for two, three sometimes even four months at a time, it used to be what I lived for," he sighs, his dejected expression coming your way, "but _now_ , being so far away for so long from you and the kids, I _just,_ I can't stand it anymore."

"Okay, and how do you plan on replacing that void, exactly?" Challenging, your question is meant to comprehend why the sudden resort to such drastic insecurity boosting measures.

"Produce or write music for other artists, I guess?" He shrugs. "Maybe I could even get a couple of DJ spots every few weeks." Oh, and let's not forget The Riff." Sighing once more, his reasoning comes forth, "That way, at least I'll be able to see the kids every day and even pick them up from school and daycare."

"But you'd be miserable, Jack. You don't need me to tell you that music and touring with your best friends is what you were meant to do."

"But that was before I settled down and had kids!" He cries in frustration, then whispers nervously, "This 'my dad is a musician thing,' how do the kids see me because of it?" 

"No different than if you were a stay-at-home—dad!" Now discouraged by how he views himself, your words take on an encouraging tone, the ultimate goal here. 

"Look, Jack, the kids, they've known practically since they were born that you'd be on the road for most of the year, but that doesn't affect how much they absolutely _adore_ you."

Though almost in a clichéd matter, you press the topic further, "Remember, absence makes the heart grow fonder so if anything, they love you even more because of how special the reunions are with them. The fact that whenever you speak to them, even if it's for a short period of time, because you're exhausted, or that you try to spend every moment possible you have with them, or better yet, that whatever you do with them, they're so _happy,_ yeah, no one can deny how darn incredible you are at being a father at a distance."

Now pumped at the prospect of bringing his moral up, you recall enthusiastically, "The plush toys you gave them as presents? They haven't stopped playing with them since you came home. I swear, it's going to take every ounce of strength I have to pry them out of their hands to wash them!"

"So, what you're saying is" he attempts to conclude your declaration of fondness, the warmth of your words helping to develop a smidge of a smile, vulnerability, though still majorly present as he asks for validity, "is that the kids don't hate me because of my job?"

"They could never" you negate, the concern in his question the cause for your warning, "But before you think of such negative things, talk to me, okay? Or even to the kids. Because there's always a solution. I hate to see you like this."

"So, speaking of presents,” He begins, scratching the back of his head, this hesitation both a silent, and guilty apology for his breakdown, and his way of telling you, that, for now, he's confident about his parenting, but doubts are likely to reoccur, "Accustoming myself back to reality and all, I forgot to give you yours. Chuckling, he adds" I guess now it's because I saved the best for last."

"Ihavesomethingforyoutoo" even taking you off guard, because instinct had wanted you to share with him the secret hiding in the last drawer of your bedside table _now,_ your statement comes out compounded, yet anxiety has the last two letters sounding shrill.

"You do _?"_ Surprisingly understanding your gibberish and not feigning his surprise as to how your body betrayed you, your husband sees the perfect opportunity for a gift exchange, "So how do you want to do this?"

"We give them to each other with our eyes closed?" Spoken fast, not like before, as to hide your nervousness, the suggestion teethers on high-pitched.

"Great!" He buzzes, "Just let me go get it and you can get yours!" also adding for good measure, ''This is so exciting!" "

And then he's off, lanky body dressed only in black briefs, scrambling off the California king, in the direction of the walk-in. At this childlike glee and happy-go-lucky attitude, the knot building in your stomach momentarily gets alleviated, enough for you to retrieve his present, without dread but rather some hope.

"You better have your eyes closed (Y/N)." 

Much too soon, his teasing tone, suggesting his presence back in the master, disrupts your moment of peace, causing you to hastily shove the object behind your back, buried under the covers, and reply with your eyelids forcefully shutting and a "mm-hmm" that is laced with forced positively.

"Ready?" The dipping of the mattress with his weight, along with the proximity of his voice indicates he's once again on the bed, just like you, sitting crossed-legged.

Too afraid to speak, for fear of your anxiety exploding, you nod in agreement, then remembering his eyelids are, too, shut, content yourself with repeating your previous word of approval.

There's a silent awkward fumbling as the exchange occurs, from him blindly shoving the gift anywhere but in your hands, to you gripping unto yours a little too tightly, wanting to prolong the moment just a little longer. Finally, after latching on to a soft yet thick texture, and a satisfied grunt expelled from his mouth, feeling allows you to open your eyes, exclamations simultaneous as you inspect the disparate items in your respective laps.

"I'm the last one I swear?"

"You got me a llama plush?"

Faced with the confusion of the occurrence, particularly how the high rise in your brows and the gape of your mouth reflects how over the moon you were about the multicolored, life-size llama plush given how it was the remaining item needed to complete your collection of llama accessories (you are a drama llama, after all), and how Jack did not foresee the white baby onesie emblazoned with such a pun, he speaks up, his tone a combination of being awestruck and contented.

" _What's going on_?

Sighing heavily out of relief, now that the cat was out of the bag, and there was literally nothing you could do except to face his reaction, you decide to see the positivity in it all, adopting a cheery tone and smile as you raise your shoulders, "Surprise!"

The moment is almost comical, how he attempts to understand the meaning behind your words, his facial expression twisting into different shapes, before ultimately registering, elation evident in his agape mouth and glittering and eyes as he barks, " _No_!

Nodding in agreement, a proud, sly smile finds its way onto your lips, for you couldn't have prayed for a better reveal, that is, opposite the one you had, just up until now, envisioned, filled with disappointment and hurt.

Not wanting to miss any minute of another parental journey you were once again embarking on, he asks curiously, "How long have you known?"

"The day you came back from tour. When I brought the kids for their pediatric checkup, the doctor suggested I take a test because, apparently, I was showing signs,” chuckling, you recall," She was right. I didn't realize I had sympt—"

Catching you off guard, he launches himself towards you, all lean six feet two of him. Understanding the intent behind his action, you lay back in satisfaction, your head against the headboard. The timing allowing him to settle into a hip-straddling position, his face dangerously close to yours and your noses slotted together as he murmurs against your lips.

"Our relationship is all kinds of wrong. We met on Warped Tour, moved in after a year of dating, had a baby four years ears later, had _another_ baby fourteen month later, _and then,_ we got married. But, at least, with baby number three, we did one thing right."

Tracing up his lips to your ear, by way of pressing delicate, heated kisses along your jawline, he whispers hotly, almost arrogantly in the shell, "You know how they say that sex reduces after marriage? Turns out, we're the exception to the rule."

Stopping a light caress and kiss of your not yet developed bump to lift his head and eyes in your direction in determination, he declares, "I've got an idea,” then as if on a secret mission, follows it up, "and it involves stuffed animals."

The idea culminates in an Instagram photo the day after. A photo of Jack on your living room couch, of him holding and smelling with closed said plush lama representing you while your children's stuffed animals, the purple unicorn for your daughter, the blue polka dot for your son and the beige alien, for the fetus, indicating the unknown gender, lay, respectively on his lap and shoulder. The caption, synonymous of your atypical family:

**_As is, our family is already weird. Watch as in nine months, when we celebrate the arrival of the newest Barakat, how we'll even get weirder. Or, should I say, more weird._ **

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing ''I'll Be Damned If I Don't Marry You'' so much that I wrote a sequel! I hope you enjoy it. As usual, I would heavily appreciate it if you could leave a comment or a kudos!


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